


The Con Game

by internetname



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Case Fic, M/M, forced to share a room, forced to share more than that, sorry for the meta, sorry not sorry for the meta
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-14
Updated: 2020-11-30
Packaged: 2021-03-09 18:07:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,566
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27560479
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/internetname/pseuds/internetname
Summary: Dean Winchester had known for years this day was inevitable. By an unusual stroke of luck, Castiel had not been with them the first time, and Dean had never wanted to go anywhere near one of those cursed clown shows ever again.But he had known this moment would come.“A Supernatural convention?” Castiel asked
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 5
Kudos: 36
Collections: FicFacer$ 2020





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Seralina](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Seralina/gifts).



> This is set in a sort of late season 13 where TFW 2.0 all have their souls and faculties, and everyone’s back from Apocalypse World. Think before Michael took over Dean, which doesn’t happen in this story because, seriously, screw Michael.

Dean Winchester had known for years this day was inevitable. By an unusual stroke of luck, Castiel had not been with them the first time, and Dean had never wanted to go anywhere near one of those cursed clown shows ever again.

But he had known this moment would come.

“A _Supernatural_ convention?” Castiel asked

Dean was staring at his beer, but he just knew the angel was doing that little head tilt.

“Yes. They’re fans of Chuck’s books, including some that only got on the internet,” Sam was explaining, taking out his phone to show photos of that pathetic nerd fest.

“They look like you and Dean,” Cass says, looking through the phone’s horrific stash. “Except these two men are obviously romantically involved.”

“Uh, well, yes. And they helped us get rid of the ghosts.”

Cass finished his examination in silence, then returned Sam’s phone, evidently unphased.

“They had another one last year,” Sam said as he swiped his phone to what would doubtlessly be more hellish images.

Castiel took the phone again with a frown then finally reacted.

“Is that supposed to be me?”

“Oh, yeah,” Dean said, savoring it. “You were really popular. There was a booth selling little angel blade keychains.”

“I see half of them are sporting anti-possession tattoos.”

“Seriously, it was a sea of trench coats.”

“Washing over a beach head of Army surplus.”

“Even the chicks were sporting black stubble.”

“What’s a Samulet?”

“All right, all right,” Sam said, making a bitch face at them both. “The point is, they’ve got another one of these lined up, and Rowena says she’s certain someone has put a spell on the event.”

“Another convention?” Castiel asked.

San ducked his head slightly. “It’s actually a cruise, and there are several fandoms.” Sam looked at his laptop and read them off: “ _Star Trek, Dr. Who, Star Wars, Stargate, Xena, Hercules, Torchwood, Supernatural, X-Files, Airbender_ , an, uh, oh, furries.”

“What are those?” Castiel asked.

“The point here is that we’re dealing with a ship-load of nerds with no life,” Dean said, standing up to make his way over to the ‘fridge for a beer. “So they spend their time watching TV shows for the twentieth time and tweeting about their mothers and awesome new plastic knives.” He turned around to Cass’ frown, Sam’s scowl, and Jack’s own head-tilt. “In short, babes in the woods.”

“You’re saying we need to protect them, but we don’t know from what, other than that it’s some sort of spell?” Castiel asked.

“Yes, but the problem is that we don’t have tickets, the thing is totally sold out, and they don’t need anyone on the crew,” Sam said. “In fact, they’re being really protective about the crew because of fans who’re trying to sneak onboard.”

“Are we going to be stowaways?” Jack asked eagerly.

“No,” Dean said. “Sam and I are going to join the costume contest because, evidently, that’s the sort of crazy BS we do now.”

“Dean,” Sam said with the expected tone of annoyance. “There is no other route to getting on this cruise now. If Rowena had warned us earlier—”

“But she didn’t,” Dean said.

“I don’t understand,” Castiel said. “What sort of contest?”

Sam pulled up the pictures of the current entrants on laptop. “There’s three for each fandom, and for _Supernatural_ , it’s one prize each for three pairs: Sam and Dean, Dean and Castiel, and Other.”

Dean, Cass, and Jack looked over Sam’s shoulder as he went through the current entrants.

“So, the idea is Sam and I will enter the Sam and Dean contest, and then Castiel, you and Jack can enter the Other thing.”

Jack made a small noise.

Dean looked at him.

Jack shrugged. “Some of these guys really look like Sam and Dean.”

“What?” Dean glared at him.

Jack refused to make eye contact. “I mean, I’ve read all the books, and some of them don’t really make it clear that Sam is much taller than you, and the way the books describe your bodies—”

“Hey!”

Sam turned to look at his brother. “Dean, don’t take it out on Jack. He’s right.” Sam clicked over to a photo. “These guys look more like the book version of us than we do.”

Dean wanted to tell Sam to go piss up a tree, but looking at the guys on the laptop screen, he had to admit they did really look like “Sam and Dean.”

“We’re better off with Dean and Castiel,” Sam said, clicking over to different photos. “Nobody’s really got Cass down.”

They all watched as Sam went through eight photos, and indeed, each showed a Castiel that looked like Lt. Colombo or a flasher.

“Why are most of them female?” Castiel asked.

“Well—” Dean began.

“Gender isn’t really part of the consideration for the costumes,” Sam said quickly. “My point is that we need to win one of these, and we have a better chance with Dean and Castiel, and then Jack and I can try for the Other.”

Dean really hated Sam right then.


	2. Chapter 2

The day of the contest was as bad as Dean feared. Considering the (non)readership of the books, he’d thought the photos they saw online were probably all the contestants that would show up.

First, he hasn’t really thought about just how many “fandoms” were going to be there. There were dozens of Kirks and Spocks (and new cast), tons of tall guys with long striped scarves holding dog robot-things, man-woman pairs in dark suits with FBI badges they kept flashing, at least twenty Xenas with Gabrielles (He approved of the Xenas, except for the ones with beards.), and more Luke, Vaders, Han Solos, and Leias in gold bikinis than a frat guy could dream of.

Apart from the deafening noise of so many talking in excitement, it smelled weird: old leather, blends of perfume and essential oils, moth balls, hair products, and just general funk.

Looking around, Dean realized not everybody was actually in the contest. Many of these people had tickets already and just wanted a chance to show off their gear.

“Do you think these people have jobs?” Dean muttered to Cass. When he didn’t get an answer, he turned to see his angel was missing. Whipping around, he located several cases of bedhead and wrinkled trenches before locking onto the real deal over by a table loaded with cartoons based on _The Last Airbender_.

Castiel was talking to a guy with five o’clock stubbed in jeans, work boots, and blue flannel that he belatedly realized was supposed to be him. Fake Dean was obviously asking for something while checking Cass out big-time. Dean strode over in time to hear Castiel explain that he was already there with a Dean of his own.

“Yeah, that’s right, buddy,” the hunter growled as he stood at Cass’ side. “He’s taken for this dog and angel show. Go see if you can scare yourself up a Zachariah or a Crowley from the wallflower geeks.”

Fake Dean lit up even while taking a step back. “You’ve got the voice down, man!” He looked back and forth at him and Cass, smiling broadly. “I haven’t seen you guys around before. You here for the contest?”

“Yes,” Castiel said. “We’re hear to be a better Dean and Castiel than the other, uh, Deans and Castiels.”

“You’re both perfect!” He winked at them. “I hope you win! I’ve already got my ticket. Sure hope you’re going to get on board with me!”

Cass frowned at him.

“Sure, whatever,” Dean said, nudging Cass away and then feeling eyes on his ass as they walked away into a gaggle of Jawas.

“He was uncomfortably friendly.”

“Yeah, a bit.” Dean finally spotted his brother’s head and shoulders in a crowd of much shorter Sams and several of what he realized were Charlies, and a couple of those were Dark Charlies. Jack was standing nearby, looking as small and bemused as usual.

Castiel suddenly veered over to Jack, which was going to do nothing for their cover. Dean decided to sidle up to a Charlie (the red wig was almost pink, but it was long and fun) and give her a brotherly grin.

“Nice Dean,” she said, smiling readily enough.

“Thanks. Uh, good Charlie.”

But she shook her head. “I feel like a fraud. Not gay.”

Dean gave her a winning smile.

She frowned. “But married.”

“Who’s your husband dressed as?”

She laughed. “Dorothy.”

Dean tried to smile again. “Cool.”

She laughed harder. “Did your friend drag you here?”

“Oh, yeah.” He nodded over to Castiel, who was now engaged in solemn conversation with Jack. “He’s an absolute fanatic over the books. Read them all a dozen times. Doesn’t talk about anything else for days. I tried to get him to read the Potter books, right? Wouldn’t touch them.”

“Charlie” made a face. “Yeah, I think they made the right call not including Potter this year. I mean, her books are great, but she really should have kept her mouth shut about her transphobia if she wanted to stay the darling of the cosplay crowd.”

Dean nodded knowingly.

“They’ll probably bring it back next year,” she was saying now. “I mean, you don’t want her run out of town, but seriously, it was all just so unprovoked.”

“Absolutely.” Dean nodded again.

“He’s a great Castiel,” the girl said, eying the figure coming toward them. Dean turned to see a somewhat serious-looking angel walking away from Jack, who looked happier.

Castiel was getting really good at cheering Jack up, Dean had noticed.

“You like our chances, then?” Dean asked.

“Absolutely!” She smiled as Cass drew near. “Do you have your angel blade ready?”

Castiel looked over at Dean, who gave him the OK. The blade slid down into his right hand.

“Wow! That’s the best angel blade I’ve ever seen!” she enthused. “Be sure to show it when you’re on stage!”

“On stage?” Castiel asked.

“Yeah, you know,” Dean said, smiling a little manically now. “For the judging.”

“Can I see it?” “Charlie” asked.

The angel held the blade up somewhat uncertainly and then, realizing she wanted to hold it, passed it over with the eagerness of someone approaching the dentist’s chair.

“Oh, it’s heavy,” she said. “What did you make it of?”

“Angel blade alloy is a blend of celestial quartz and compressed ozone vibrating at 2,000 gigahertz.”

She frowned and looked at Dean.

“Told ya! Absolute nuts for the books! Including the, you know, the fan guides and tech manuals.”

Cass delicately snagged his blade and put it away, then Dean smiled at the lady and nodded at the angel and then turned pointedly to the registration table. Sam and Jack were already there, and they were careful not to look at each other without making it look like they weren’t looking at each other—except for Jack, who sucked at that particular move but made up for it by just staring at the sky, which was in character.

God, this was giving him a headache.

The line took a good thirty minutes, but then he and Cass had little bibs with their contestant numbers on them to attach to their backs. It was another two hours before their time on stage, so Dean got a couple burgers from a burger stand and ate them both while Castiel watched the crowd with ever-widening eyes.

“Charlie would have loved it here,” he said finally.

“The real Charlie,” Dean said, nodding and wishing this place sold beer, but with all the kids running around—more Jawas, Ewocks, Younglings, little Xenas, inevitable Elsas, and more Airbender boys and girls—soda was all they had on tap.

“She was a bright soul,” Cass said, then he frowned and looked behind Dean at a line of tall, broad-shouldered figures: a brown dog, Sonic the Hedgehog, a red fox, a white cat with pink ears, and a light brown rabbit carrying a tiny, open orange umbrella.

Dean noticed people looked slight uncomfortable as they passed and muttered, “What the hell?”

“They’re furries,” Castiel said. Dean looked at him. “Adults who derive social and/or sexual gratification from dressing up as furry animals and congregating.”

“That’s gross.”

Cass shrugged. “To each their own, Dean.”

“Yeah, but . . .” Dean looked down at the last of his burger. He hated when he ran out of everything but bun and meat, especially when the meat was unseasoned chuck and the bun was stale. He looked back up at Castiel’s neutral expression.

“Exactly how is it that you know things like that now?” he asked. “I mean, one day, you get pop culture references. I mean, me and Sam assumed it’s some angel thing, but did you do? Go plug into the collective?”

“Angels are not the Borg, Dean. But it was sort of an ‘angel thing.’ It was Metatron, actually.”

“The Scribe?”

“Yes. He has trouble making conversation without dropping a literary reference every few sentences. In his frustration, he used the power the Angel Tablet was giving him at the time to ‘download’ 2,000 years’ worth of books, movies, TV shows, plays, poetry, and whatever else he’d consumed into my head.”

Dean stared at him. “What was that like?”

“It was highly unpleasant, a bit, at the time. But ultimately I have found the knowledge useful.”

Dean shook his head and shoved the last of his dry burger in his mouth.

“What?” Castiel asked.

“So it hurt like hell, but you found a way to make it a positive.” He couldn’t help shooting his lunch companion a little eye salute. “Always a smart soldier.”

Castiel actually looked complimented, and Dean tallied one up in his score book.

The _Supernatural_ contest was announced over a loudspeaker, and Cass and Dean moved over to the line for the stage.

“This is quite odd,” the angel said, pressed up against men and women in black suits, trench coats, and messy hair, each with their own Dean clone.

After a few couples made it to the stage, Dean started to pay attention to the level of applause, so when he and Cass finally made it to the platform, he appreciated the loud screams and chants of “You’re so hot!” that followed.

He was less pleased with the, “Oh my God! Kiss! Kiss!” screams, but he was less puzzled than Castiel, who looked at the “shippers” with open dismay. This only set the screamers off, and the chanting of “Kiss! Kiss! Kiss!” actually got organized.

Some girl in a blond wig and leather ensemble stuck a microphone in Castiel’s face.

“What do you guys think about that?” she screamed, and the crowd quieted.

“I don’t understand,” the angel said, looking around in alarm. “Why are they requesting a public display of affection?”

The crowd screamed and applauded, and then Dean was looking at a microphone was too close to his face.

“Dean?” the girl screamed now. “Any chance of a kiss?”

The hunter thought about it, truly struggling to come up with something funny, something OK, something that would end this nightmare before he lost his mind. In a sort of daze, he reached over, grabbed Castiel’s left hand, and then brought it to his lips with a bow.

The crowd lost its friggin’ mind.

About forty minutes later, Sam and Jack reached the stage, and while they got a decent response from the crow, it wasn’t nearly as impressive.

In the end, Dean and Castiel won tickets, but Sam and Jack didn’t. The cruise wasn’t for another week, and the team spent most of it checking time throughout the Caribbean islands so Sam and Jack could be there when the cruise ship made a port of call. Jack assured Sam the trips wouldn’t be hard on him, and Sam assured Jack he wasn’t worried about it (liar), and in the end they had the schedule worked out to the minute, along with all the possible delays.

The time came to pack, and Dean and Sam both had to work hard to explain to Castiel why he had to bring at least one bag for a seven-day cruise, including a bathing suit, flip flips, and no fewer than three Hawaiian shirts.

Finally, Dean just took half his toiletries and shoved them into Cass’ bag. Then he and Sam made up some passports and informed their phone service provider they would be roving.

Fortunately, the contest winners were expected to show up “in costume” for the launch, so it was short work to get onboard and find their ship’s quarters.

Their room was slightly better than the cheapest accommodations: a big circular window, a tidy white bathroom that included a short tub, a gray loveseat, a flat-screen TV on the wall over a small dresser, and a queen-sized bed with a white-and-blue bedspread. In a nod to technology, there were outlets under the TV, on the base of the lamp on the small nightstand next to the bed, right at the top of the sofa, and in the top of the dresser.

“There’s an artificial smell of the sea in here,” Castiel noted.

“Yeah, because the window doesn’t open.”

The angel shrugged, opened his luggage on the bed, retrieved and handed out Dean’s toiletries, then put the suitcase on the shelf in the closet.

“I sense no hex bags,” he said in the meantime. “Neither is anyone we’ve met yet a witch or anything other than a human.”

Dean listened as he unpacked. He figured he’d be the one wearing the Hawaiian shirts in Castiel’s luggage, so he was more interested in the bits and pieces of weaponry he’d hidden away among his socks, shoes, and underwear. Then he slipped the demon blade from between the lining and outer leather, stood up, and looked around.

This was all going to suck so much.


	3. Chapter 3

The sigil of transformation had been draw in the combined blood of the coven, laced with coriander and peppermint. Despite the finale planned in six nights, there was a jovial atmosphere among the thirteen wavering candles. The first night had its usual air of laying out the game, establishing who got which avatar, making a few side bets, and sorting out the final details of the victor’s recipes.

Madame Laveau waited until anticipation just tipped the scales over socialization and stood before the sigils making the performance area. Her timing, as always, was impeccable. Everyone fell silent and took their seats.

“Ade due Damballa,” she began, raising the cone of power. “Donnez-moi le pouvoir, je vous en supplie!”

The coven began to hum, drawing power from the air and sea.

“Leveau mercier du bois chaloitte. Secoise entienne mais pois de morte. Morteisma lieu de vocuier de mieu vochette. Endenlieu pour du boisette Damballa! Endenlieu pour du boisette Damballa! Endenlieu pour du boisette Damballa!”

The coven reached a fever pitch, then went silent. The massive ship shuddered ever so slightly. A mate in the control room noticed but went back to her usual midnight duties when it wasn’t repeated.

Madame Laveau walked to the side and into the performance area walked the first of their chosen ones.

Ray was angry, glaring back at his lieutenant’s office.

“Ray?” the other man asked. “I realize you're angry with me, but—”

“I'm not angry with you, Benny. Mind you, I should be, but…” Ray shrugged. “This isn't the first time this has happened.”

Blue eyes (but everyone could see they were colored contacts) filled with surprise. “There have been other letters?”

Ray shook his head and pointed to the chair next to his desk. Fraser balanced his hat on one knee while (a plushy) Dief put his head in the jodhpur-wearing lap for an ear rub.

“No, Fraser, no letters.” Ray rubbed his eyes, then looked up, straightening his posture just a bit. “Look, we're going to talk about this, okay? Then we're not going to talk about it again.”

“All right, Ray.”

“I don't know how it is with Mounties up in Canada, but down here a gay cop is tolerated, even trotted out on Political Correctness Day for a round of applause, but his life . . . it ain't easy, Fraser.”

“Understood.”

Ray nodded. “Now, I'm Catholic, Italian, and quite well known as a ladies' man, so it's not something I've had to deal with before, but I know what it can do to a man's career if certain rumors get started about this man and some other man. The guy doesn't have to come out of the closet for just that, just the rumors, to see that no one wants to partner with him, no one wants him to get promoted, and no one wants him around, you get me?”

“Yes, Ray.”

“Now, I know this, Huey over there knows it, Elaine knows it, and Welsh knows it. That's why he showed us the letter. That's why he didn't have to do anything except show us the letter. He's leaving it up to us.”

Benny obviously didn't get it, so Ray shook him off before he could apologize. “Look, Benny. The truth doesn't matter. Some joker out there thinks we're . . .” Ray ducked a bit, and his voice was low and quiet. “. . . an item. Welsh is letting us know we gotta think about the way we act with each other in public. He's leaving it up to us to figure out how to keep this from happening again.”

Fraser seemed to get it this time, and Ray was about to breathe a sigh of relief and change the subject when that Canadian cultured voice asked at a volume just to match his own, “What other time has this happened, Ray?”

Ray shrugged awkwardly. “I just meant people have made comments to me before. Nothing major, nothing I wanted to bother you with. They were aimed at me, not you. I'm just saying this isn't an isolated incident.”

“Aimed at you? Are you saying that your being friends with me has caused people to question your intentions with me?”

“My intentions? Geeze, Benny, you sound like you're expecting me to marry you, or something!”

“Well, now, that's obviously not what I mean, Ray.”

“Nixe!” Madame Laveau crossed her arms and then swiped them down. The men had looked promising, but their acting was horrible and their chemistry was shit. The coven nodded, and the two men left the performance area to undress, return to their beds, and wake up in the morning with no memory of the night’s activities.

A few moments passed as the cone of power worked its task. Another two men walked into the performance area. McKay sat on a stool and “typed on his laptop.” He then looked up as the other approached him.

“Is there something you need, Colonel?”

“Actually, I'd like you to come with me to the pre-mission briefing for SGA-1's little trip to PX7-819.”

“Why?”

“Because I'd like you to come on the mission as well.”

McKay finally stopped typing and crossed his arms over his chest, inadvertently emphasizing the way his nipples poked out against his light blue science shirt. “Why would I do that?”

“You'd be useful in the field, I think. If you are, I'd like you permanently on my team.”

McKay looked astonished, then horrified. “Is this some sort of joke?” the scientist asked finally.

“No.”

“What if I prove to be a liability in the field?”

Sheppard shrugged. “Then I won't ask you to be on my team.”

“How does your Guide feel about it?”

“I haven't asked her.”

“What?! Why not?”

“The two of you haven't even met yet.”

“No, we haven't.”

“So, come to the pre-mission briefing and meet her.”

McKay chewed on that for a while then asked, “When is the briefing?”

“Ten minutes.”

“Then, well, we should leave now.”

“Now works.”

McKay nodded slightly, then again more firmly, and then “closed his laptop” and “grabbed a tablet.” “After you.”

“Nixe!” Madame Laveau cut through the air again with her arms, but gently this time. They had the spark. The coven nodded. They would be asked back for the second night.

The men left. Two women replaced them, one dressed as a warrior, the other a medieval scribe.

***

Dean had to admit, the food was awesome.

Castiel had taken a plate and filled it with an obvious lack of a plan. A bit of green salad, some cherry Jell-O with fruit cocktail, a small breakfast burrito, and some sort of thing with fish and peas were all leaning rather dejectedly against each other, thoroughly ignored.

Dean was on his third slice of “breakfast pie,” as the little sign had said. The crust was flakey, the custard warm but firm, and the bits of fruit and other things were delicious. He’d had to ignore the other “Deans” as he’d transferred the pieces from the buffet to his dish, but whatever. It was frickin’ awesome.

He’d also had some prime rib cut off the bone, a perfect ham and cheese omelet, sweet potato soufflé (which tasted just like pumpkin pie), and hash browns.

“Best food I’ve had on a case, that’s for sure,” he muttered, thinking about getting another slice of the breakfast pie.

“According to the brochure, they serve breakfast, lunch, high tea, dinner, and a midnight feast,” Castiel said with a faint smile.

Dean frowned at a sudden thought.

“Hey, when you heal me up from something, do you do other stuff?”

For a split-second, the angel looked at him with an extreme expression the hunter didn’t recognize, but then perhaps it was just a twitch. Angels twitched, didn’t they? Cass seemed perfectly normal as he asked in confusion, “Other stuff?”

“Yeah, like my liver, cholesterol, stuff like that.”

Cass considered this a moment, looking down at the food in front of him with a mild distaste. “My grace responds to distress in many forms. I have sometimes healed you quickly. I may have done more than was visible at the time.”

Dean shrugged and decided against anther piece of breakfast piece. No sense in being full when they put out lunch. I had nothing to do with the fact that he thought some people might be ready to snap a photo of him if he did. “Not that I mind. I just thought, you know.”

Castiel looked at him.

Dean leaned forward a bit. “It just sometimes occurs to me that, you know, you’re my best friend and you’re an angel. Don’t want to take you for granted.”

Cass’ smile was, the angel would think later, probably a little too wide, but he couldn’t help it.

“You don’t do that, Dean.”

The hunter shrugged again, then looked around. “All right, so, we need a game plan. I say we walk the ship, see if you can pick up anything.”

Cass shook his head. “I did that last night while you were sleeping. I sensed no hex bags, no ongoing spells, no disturbances in the Force.”

Dean frowned at him. “It’s weird when you do that now.”

“In short, and this is in spite of the many occult items on the ship, I could sense nothing out of the ordinary, which means either everything is all right and Rowena was wrong—”

“Or there’s something here so powerful it can hide from you. Great.” Dean looked around again, avoiding the gaze of a few dozen nerds who were checking each other out. Few were in “costume” today, so he and Cass stood out. “OK, we’re stopping in San Juan today, so I vote we stop looking like ourselves.”

He turned to Cass with a frown. “You can actually wear other clothes, can’t you?”

“Of course, Dean.”

“So you just choose to stay in that?”

Cass looked annoyed. “It’s a part of my vessel, Jimmy Novak’s identity, and thus mine. What difference does it make?”

Dean had to shrug. “None, until now. You need to get out of character.”

The angel looked even more annoyed, drawing himself up a bit. “I’m not in character.”

Dean scowled right back. “You know what I mean, so stop pretending you don’t. You could get away with that kind of thing for the first couple years, but you’ve been among us hairless apes long enough. I’m not buying it anymore.”

Cass slumped.

***


	4. Chapter 4

Sam and Jack were waiting in Santísimo when two men in jeans, Hawaiian shirts, leather flip-flops, and sunglasses walked inside.

“Castiel?” Sam asked, only speaking first because Jack was speechless, staring at the angel.

“Looking good, right?” Dean said, taking a seat at the white faux-marble table while admiring the arched pass-throughs and enjoying the breeze from the green ceiling fans. The air was redolent with seafood and spices, and he took a deep breath before taking a good swig from the sweating beer Sam had made sure was ready.

“I could seriously get used to this whole tourist thing.”

Sam nodded absently while dialing his phone, and Jack was still staring in puzzlement at Castiel, who was looking all around them.

Sam set the phone on the table.

“ _Hello, boys_ ,” Rowena said. “ _I take it you’ve stumbled across the coven by now?_ ”

Dean looked slightly insulted. “Not a chance. Cass has felt nothing, and we’ve seen nothing. It’s just a ship of nerds and wannabes.”

A heavily displeased sigh sounded from the phone’s speaker. “ _Did you feel nothing last night? The ripples through the astral plane were global_.”

“Since when do you talk about astral planes?” Sam wanted to know.

“ _Since so many witches of so many backgrounds have come together to raise a cone of power so great . . . well, certainly it’s more than I’ve ever seen, and I will remind you I’m older than the country you call home.”_

“So, we’re dealing with a coven strong enough to hide their presence from an angel,” Castiel said, “though I am at low power.”

“ _Power isn’t your issue, you celestial warrior. There’s not a speck of white magic in whatever they’re doing, and there’s enough of the dark and fetid in what I’ve felt that the host of Heaven might not have a clue_.”

“So, how do we find them?” Dean wanted to know.

“ _You’ll have to use the old-fashioned methods, I’m afraid. Look for odd smells, people up when they should be down, missing livestock_.”

“On a ship in the middle of the ocean?” Dean asked.

“ _You are currently in port, I believe?_ ”

“Jack and I will question the local farmers after the ship leaves,” Sam said.

“ _The coven members won’t be walking the ship by day, not with the kind of power they’re drawing in. My dear Castiel, I suggest you try to see the faces of all passengers when the sun is up_.”

“Understood.”

“ _Tonight, I’ll be trying a little spell of my own devising, see if I can peek into whatever it is they’re doing_.”

“Be careful,” Sam said.

“ _Aren’t you a dear? Don’t worry about your little Rowena. I’ll take all precautions. Be sure to call in early tomorrow_.”

Sam agreed and hung up.

“You look good,” Jack told Castiel. “I like the pineapples.”

“Thank you, Jack,” the angel replied solemnly.

“Yeah, Cass,” Sam said. “It’s quite the outfit.”

“I prefer it to the cowboy hat.”

Sam frowned at him. Dean went to get another beer.

***

“Nixe!” Madam Laveau shouted, clearly annoyed. The two men going back to their rooms couldn’t make sparks in a match factory. The coven all nodded in agreement. Total nothings, even though they had done well enough that first night.

Oh well. That’s why the ritual took several days.

A familiar duo walked on next, then sat in their chairs. The golden-eyed one spoke first.

"Spock, _is_ it Pon Farr?"

"That time is still two years away."

Kirk frowned. "But this is sexual, isn't it, Spock? I'm sorry. I don't wish to embarrass you, but you look, frankly—"

"Frankly?"

"Well, damn it, you look like a man who needs something so bad it's going to kill him. Bones said if you were any other man he'd prescribe shore leave on an accommodating planet."

"You have discussed this with Doctor McCoy?"

"Shouldn't we? We both care about you, Spock."

Spock looked beautifully tortured.

"You don't have a mate, not after T'Pring and Stonn. Is that disrupting anything? Do you need to be—Spock, help me."

Spock spoke with a perfectly strangled voice. It was obvious their little cplayers had true feelings for each other, if disappointing that “Kirk” was a female.

"I am well enough, Captain—Jim. You must trust that if I require help I will ask for it."

"Like you have in the past?" A question dryly asked, and yet there was steel now behind the words. "I'm worried about you, Spock. You're my friend. Don't push me away. I know this is serious."

Then Kirk reached for, placing his warm weight on the Vulcan’s forearm.

For a moment, an hour, Spock pressed his lips to the back of that hand, then, so slowly, Spock opened his lips just slightly, to taste him.

Kirk tightened his hold, leaning down to bury his own lips in that black hair (wig).

"Spock," Kirk whispered. "Spock, please..."

Spock groaned, “Do not beg me.”

"Beg you?"

“Nixe,” Madame Laveau whispered. For this ritual, the couple was definitely her second favorite.

The others? The ones they were saving for last tonight? They were her favorite of all time.

***


End file.
